My Best Friend's Exorcism(41)

“Abby, what—” he began.

“Shh,” Abby said, putting her finger to her lips and pointing meaningfully upstairs. “She’s sleeping.”

“Why aren’t you in school?” he stage-whispered.

Feeling very important, and a bit unsure of herself, Abby motioned for them to go into the TV room at the front of the house. It was dark in there, far from the stairwell, and way too small for the giant leather sofa that dominated the middle of the room.

“We got a call from the office that you two cut class,” Mrs. Lang began.

“I have to tell you something,” Abby said. “It’s not good.”

“We know Gretchen is very sick,” Mr. Lang interrupted. “We know she hasn’t been herself. We’re already taking steps.”

“She’s in trouble,” Abby said. “I think something bad happened.”

Mr. Lang gave Mrs. Lang a look. Did they already suspect?

“Abby, what has Gretchen said to you?” Mr. Lang asked. Then, like a typical adult, he didn’t wait for her answer. “What Gretchen is going through is very scary, and I don’t blame you for backing off from your friendship a little. But we’ve talked to doctors and they tell us that what’s happening is an unfortunate sickness of the mind and spirit that happens sometimes as girls grow up.”

Abby knew what kind of doctors they went to.

“Have you seen her arm?” she asked.

Mr. Lang made his sad face.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said. “It’s terrible when a young person hurts herself. But it can be a reaction to a lot of things. We’ve found someone in the church who Gretchen can speak to, and that’s how she’s going to start getting better.”

“I know you’re as alarmed by her behavior as we are,” Mrs. Lang said, smiling. “But we have everything under control.”

Instantly, Abby was furious. How dare they act like they knew what was going on? They didn’t know a thing.

“She was raped,” Abby said.

Saying “rape” out loud sounded more melodramatic than she intended, but it also wiped the smiles right off their faces. The Langs exchanged another look, as if Abby was being difficult.

“Oh, Lord,” Mrs. Lang said.

“You can’t toss around those accusations,” Mr. Lang said. “You have no idea what’s going on here. You’re a child.”

Abby could tell by their faces that the door was slamming shut. Because they were adults and easily frightened, she had wanted to lay the case out for them one piece of evidence at a time, but now she knew she had to throw it all on the table at once.

“When we were at Margaret’s house,” she said, “three Saturdays ago. I forget the date.” She should have remembered the date. “We took LSD—and I know we shouldn’t have, but we’d never done it before, we were just experimenting. I know now that I should have taken better care of Gretchen, but it was our first time and it wasn’t very strong. Gretchen got lost in the woods, and it was a few hours before we saw her again, and when we did she was different. I think she’s hurting herself . . .” How did this make sense? But then Abby had it again and was galloping forward. “She’s reliving the rape every night, like Vietnam veterans have flashbacks. It’s my fault; I shouldn’t have left her alone when we did the LSD, because that’s when it happened. We all swore we wouldn’t do it again. I promise.”

“You were doing drugs?” Mrs. Lang asked. Abby was frustrated that she was reacting to the wrong thing. “At Margaret Middleton’s house, you did drugs?”

“Someone attacked Gretchen,” Abby said.





“Where did you get the drugs, Abby?” Mr. Lang said in a controlled voice.

Abby didn’t want to tell on Margaret, so she decided to take the blame. Compared to what had happened in the woods, this was small beans.

“They were mine,” Abby said. “But it was just an experiment.”

Mrs. Lang started toward the door.

“I’m going to check on Gretchen,” she said.

Mr. Lang grabbed her arm.

“Grace,” he said, “Gretchen’s fine. You haven’t given her anything today, have you, Abby?”

Abby wanted to be honest, so she thought hard. She hadn’t bought her a Diet Coke, or any food; they hadn’t even stopped at Wendy’s.

“No,” she said. “She’s asleep.”

Mr. Lang steered his wife to the sofa and lowered her gently onto the leather.

“Abby,” Mr. Lang said. “We welcomed you into our home. We treated you like family. And you gave our daughter poison.”

“The drugs aren’t important,” Abby said. “I think Gretchen was . . .” But that sounded too qualified, too weak. They needed to know that she had no doubts about what had happened. “I know Gretchen was raped, Mr. Lang.”

“I asked you if you knew what was happening,” Mr. Lang said. “The night of the book club. I asked you to tell me the truth. And the way you lied to my face makes my blood run cold.”

Mrs. Lang’s eyes were wet as she took both of Abby’s hands and held them tight.

“How long has this been going on?” she asked. “No, don’t tell me. I know exactly.” She raised her eyes to Mr. Lang, who was staring at Abby. “The bloodshot eyes, the messy room, sloppy appearance, loss of appetite, the bad smells. Right under our noses. Right in our own home.”